It feels a little strange sitting here at my cluttered desk. I didn’t think I’d be doing this again. My fingers feel a little stiff and unsure putting these words together. It’s been three weeks but it feels as if it’s been months, years even since I’ve put together a coherent thought.
I keep cycling between wanting to keep writing and wanting to give it up. My mind is split in half. I don’t know which side is winning, but I’m here, writing this, so one side must have the upper hand right now.
What exactly keeps bringing me back here?
It’s been over a week, I know. I had some things to think about.
I was thinking a lot about this space and what it means to me. I’ve always said that this blog was an outlet, a place to put my thoughts when they couldn’t go anywhere else. I’ve also said that I think it’s important to write even if you have nothing to say.
Maybe I was wrong about that last bit. If I’m being honest with you and with myself, I can’t be happy with the quality of writing I’ve been putting out. A lot of it has been forced because, for some reason, I felt compelled to post regularly. That was impractical on my part and it meant that I had little time for reflection and improvement. It became a matter of quantity over quality.
It got to a stage where I was just writing for the sake of writing. It wasn’t about creative output anymore – just output. There’s no enjoyment in that.
So, what to do? Well, I’m not sure yet. For now, I caution you not to expect too much. I have to rethink what I want to achieve as a writer. I have to think what I need to do to deserve that title.
I suppose anyone who has ever put a word to paper has had thoughts like these… followed by more thoughts and more questions than answers.
I locked myself in a tower
and waited for prince charming
just like the girls in the fairytales
though secretly I hoped
he would never come
I’ve stopped thinking about the sad days as setbacks. They hurt much less now and I heal more easily.
what have I done here:
made mistakes I can’t undo,
now it all crumbles
pedestals were built for you
but you never stood there long
you chose the sturdy earth
and an ocean of unfamiliar faces
to make yourself at home
you embraced us as friends
dear to your guileless heart
close as family
more precious than gold
My sister is fourteen.
She laughs without reserve,
loves deeply and sincerely
and always tells you what’s on her mind.
She never apologises
for loving the things she loves,
even if people think her strange for it.
She has embraced herself wholeheartedly,
inhabited herself unapologetically.
I aspire to be like her.
The funny thing is, she doesn’t even know
that just by existing,
she’s made me a better person.